The Defiant Affair

The Defiant Affair

By

Roger Kent

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Roger Kent

Second Edition 2014

The Defiant Affair

By

Roger Kent

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All persons, names, and places appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead is entirely coincidental and used for dramatic purposes only.

Also available by Roger Kent

The Paperclip Affair

Mike Ritter, a war weary U.S. Navy flying boat pilot, stationed in the Mediterranean theatre and based on the island of Malta. Secretly transferred to Italy for training on a new mission, he very soon he acquires a beautiful new girlfriend, Renate Ross, a German army deserter, and ex-driver to a murdered SS General. His daring mission was into fly into Peenemunde, the secret rocket base in Northern Germany, to scoop up those ingenious technical minds from under the noses of the advancing Red Army and then deliver them safely to the Allies in England. However, the SS and MI6 seemed to have other plans for our brave couple and the resulting intrigue changes both of their lives forever!

Mytchett Place

An amazing story of how German Special Forces came to England during WWII.

Ex-Afrika Korps officer: Captain Rudy Stoller was summoned to Berlin to participate in a daring mission to secure the release of a special prisoner held in England. However, he and his comrades were deliberately kept unaware until the last moment that their target was Deputy Fuhrer, Rudolph Hess. Prising him from the hands of his tough Canadian guards at Mytchett Place would prove to be no pushover. However, they had some inside help!

During his short time in Berlin, Stoller meets a strikingly beautiful and enigmatic woman called Hanna Kreis, an undisclosed Abwehr agent. She suddenly disappears but later re-emerges to play a central part in the mission, Stoller’s life, and a possible witness to his death. This intrigue reveals how every corner of the audacious plan named: Operation Cormorant was enforced one summer moonlit night over Southern England, or perhaps this event was to be dismissed as just a fanciful tale to prevent embarrassment to the ‘Victors’?

The Amerika Bomber

There was no doubt about it, unless the Americans signed a truce, the war was lost. Everyone in the Chancellery knew it. Everyone on the street in Berlin knew it but what could be done at this last gasp? This would be their last ditch attempt at persuading the Allies to desist from their hell-bent objective of beating Germany into the ground. If they refused, they would really get to see what a ‘revenge weapon’ could do!

Reiner Schenk was a major in the Luftwaffe of ‘Ace’ status but now Goering had other plans for this brilliant pilot. He was to fly the Horten XVIIIB: ‘The Amerika Bomber’ all the way to New York.

Heidelinde Holzwarden, (Linda), was an outstandingly bright young woman in the field of avionics. Who could have guessed it would have been those American terror bombers over Berlin that would prematurely bring Linda and Schenk together, only for them to be reunited professionally for a mission whose combined skills could completely change the Allied expected outcome of WWII!

The Dublin Connection

Sepp Richter and Lidia Connelly came from entirely different backgrounds. He was a spy for the Abwehr; Germany’s secret service, and she; a coerced member of the IRA. They met when Richter was sent to Dublin during WWII to oversee a plan to invade Northern Ireland aided by the IRA. This German plan was codenamed: Kathleen.

Betrayed by her boss by causing her boyfriend’s death, she sought out revenge. Many weeks later; fate had her meet Richter and the attraction was instant and mutual.

Due to a misunderstanding, Richter thought some IRA hit men were after him and dealt with them the only way he knew how. This was tantamount to starting a bush fire, forcing Lidia and Sepp to flee Dublin, but now with the added peril of having Berlin’s top assassin hot on their trail.

The Secret Jungle

Kurt Brandt’s ex-Kriegsmarine fast torpedo boat inserted beautiful female spies into the post-war communist controlled Baltic States for MI6 and the CIA. This deadly foray was code named: Operation Jungle. The demanding realities of this espionage assignment were murder, adventure and heartbreak in almost equal measure. Brandt’s early involvement with women in England and Germany led to unforeseen tragic results, however, his rapid posting to Bornholm Island in Denmark saved him from eventual prosecution. After completing his delivery of those brave women; Brandt and his crew suddenly had a new mission and were aided by six SBS men sent from England. Their task was to free Brandt’s new lover: Eva, the Latvian spy ringleader, using their E-Boat. She was being held in the notorious Karosta Prison and desperately hoping help would arrive before her brutal KGB interrogators arrived from Moscow. Unknown to Brandt; the SBS men had a kill order on Eva if escape was thought impossible but had all their fates already been sealed?

Anya and Me

Some might say that British journalist Bill Good was a lucky man to have met two diverse but intriguing women in his life tonight.

It all began with the lovely post-grad Christine driving him to a ‘lights in the sky’ breaking story down in Reading, Pennsylvania. This in turn leads to them rescuing the mysterious Anya from possible medical experimentation.

Returning to New York City both women insist that Bill takes them home. Christine lived locally in NYC, so easy enough, but Anya’s place was going to be a little harder as Earth was not her home!

Sending much love to all those that endure lonely times whilst we write.

It is appreciated.

I found an island in your arms

A country in your eyes

Arms that chain

Eyes that lie

Break on through to the other side

Many thanks to JDM

The

Defiant Affair

By

Roger Kent

Chapter One

‘Damn! Damn! Damn!’ Bolan yelled out loud. That bastard oil cooler had sprung a leak and was spraying a fine mist of Texas Tea all over the cockpit windshield of his aircraft and obscuring his vision.

‘What’s happening?’ called Jim Blowes, his rear gunner. For he was unable to turn round far enough to see what was up.

‘We’re in trouble. The damn oil cooler got no oil pressure worth shit. I can hold her for a minute but that’s it. You want to bail out?’ asked Ted Bolan.

‘Hell no, I’m not swimming home. You know I hate the damn water’ he replied with some bravado.

It was ok to bail out as the early morning weather was fine with only light winds, which was coupled with virtually unlimited visibility making it a reasonably safe option.

The sea was calm with a lovely sparkle on the small wave crests. The other factor to consider bailing out was being so close to the island Major Ortiz and his boys of the Air Sea Rescue could locate and pick you up reasonably quick. No problem. Although, being aircrew, most would sooner take their chances on a forced ground landing than into the water. That may seem strange to non-aviators, but that’s just way it was.

The main airfield on the east side of the island had Bolan’s approaching aircraft on their radar. Its IFF signal was on, indicating it was a ‘friendly’ and on course to land. However, the night fighters didn’t usually land there, they had their own airfield about five miles southeast.

The Duty Control Officer knew this, so he knew that aircraft was in trouble and immediately raised the emergency landing alarm and told his assistant to get the fire crews and the ‘meat wagon’ (ambulance) out by the strip.

The boiling hot engine oil spraying out from the cooler had now had run its way forward on to the 1000 degree hot exhaust manifolds. Bolan knew this was bad news as the motor temperature gauges were wrapped round the ‘max’ end stops. Somehow they were still flying and the good news; if you could call it that, as that airfield was only a couple of minutes flying time away.

Their aircraft was always looked upon with affection by their crews as it was tough as nails and would always get them home safely. Bolan had convinced himself of that fact, which began to make him feel a little calmer. Suddenly the aircraft began to rattle and feel sluggish, as it was now headed towards a stall situation. That wasn’t good.

‘Damn, no flaps now!’ Bolan said feeling more irritated than concerned. ‘It must have damaged the hydraulics as well.’

That situation also meant no undercart; therefore, a belly landing it was going to be.

‘Tighten up those harness straps real well and don’t forget to take a breath,’ he warned himself and his gunner.

‘We’re going in fast, hold tight!’ Bolan said with a dry mouth.

Sweat was running down his face and back; even with the canopy slid right back and the inrush of the cold morning air blasting its way into the cockpit.

He could only see directly ahead when he side slipped the aircraft because of all the oil across the now opaque windshield. His objective was to line it up with the airfield runway for an emergency landing.

It was funny the things that ran through your head at such critical times, Bolan thought. He strangely remembered when he and his friends used to get ragged a lot by the infantry soldiers when they went up to the main airfield to get some beer or to collect the mail from home.

Those soldiers had taken every opportunity to point out to them how cushy their flyboy’s war was compared to the poor, hard done-by, infantrymen. Especially when they had to stay out all night in those crap filled foxholes in all kinds of weathers to get soaked through to the skin, and freeze their nuts off. Added to that was the injustice of digging those damn foxholes. Oh, those damn foxholes. How the soldiers hated them!

Bolan could genuinely see their point of view but perhaps some were looking up at him now from the safety of their foxholes and he briefly wondered how many might want to swap jobs!

With the perfect weather, the fire crew could see the aircraft coming in from quite a way off. It wasn’t that difficult to spot due to the oil smoke wafting thick swirling clouds, something like a battleship’s smokescreen. Only now there was a small orange flame at the smoke’s root that was progressively glowing ever brighter.

Right now, you could only just make out the horizontal wings protruding from that black cloud but those right on the eastern end of the island could hear the screaming of the motor as it was pushed way beyond its limits and performing it all without lubrication.

Suddenly everything went eerily quiet for the crew.

Onboard the aircraft something strange happened. It was as if you were driving a car and the windshield suddenly shattered. It breaks with a smallish bang but your brain takes a couple of seconds to realise that you cannot see through that glass anymore. Only this time it wasn’t a windshield shattering, it was the motor seizing to a complete and graunching dead stop.

‘What’s the hell’s happened?’ implored Blowes.

Before Bolan could answer, the aircraft instantly winged over and its nose went down, and to drop like a meteor. After all, it was only obeying the laws of physics. But surely, it wouldn’t do it to them?

Blowes began screaming between gulps of polluted air into his pilot’s headphones. It was at these crazy times that abstract things could run through your head under such great moments of stress.

With all that was going on in the cockpit; the pilot was still fighting the controls, but he realistically knew that death was certainly only seconds away. Even so, within those few moments, Bolan thought of his young auburn haired, blue-eyed, wife called Maggie, and their beautiful little girl Sarah. Could Maggie still possibly want him disfigured like this? Would Sarah scream in terror when she saw how badly burnt her daddy was and run away in terror when he returned home?

He didn’t need to worry.

They were far too low to recover the aircraft with no power available from the dead motor. The aircraft went straight in to the hard deck about a mile and a half from the airfield. It crashed into a picturesque low valley that was scattered with pines and wild flowers. There were a few houses and also some sheepherders’ shacks built as welcome shelter when the cold winds of winter blew.

Some local children were playing catch outside and all stopped as one. They turned to look in the direction of those unusual grating aircraft noises. When they saw it coming down in flames, it made them riveted to the spot but in wide-eyed amazement.

The kids were used to aircraft noises as the airfield was only a short distance away, but were unfamiliar with the terrible carnage caused by an aircraft crashing. Thankfully, none of those children had ever seen a mangled and burnt body before.

However, curiosity will generally win out over tragedy with the young. The kids dropped their ball and ran off at speed towards the sounds of the impact and suddenly felt the pressure wave from its instant destruction, which they unknowingly used as a pointer to the aircraft’s location.

Perhaps they might be lucky and find a souvenir!

**

The dawn was usually a mixed blessing of welcome friend and dogged enemy rolled into one to the 19th Night Fighter Squadron that was generally known as: The Devil’s Deal. They were pleased that the night sortie was finally over and with it a chance to get to bed. Many of those airmen may were trying to get some good humour back into their spent bodies by using large amounts of coffee and then maybe some chow; providing of the kitchen still had some bacon and eggs left for them.

Except for Bolan and Blowes; all of the other squadron members had returned safely and had parked up on their home airfield. They quickly headed to ‘Debrief’ for a review on a largely uneventful night. Pilots and crews in wartime really like uneventful, and thankfully, it had been uneventful for the past couple of weeks.

However, that was soon all going to change!

Major Chris James was the squadron flight commander and at twenty-nine years old had recently begun to feel like a punch-drunk boxer. He’d good reason to feel that way after all that had happened over the past two years. Some of the younger guys even called him the ‘ol’ man’ behind his back. On balance, he supposed that he must seem like an old man to all those 18 and 19 years old young aircrew, but he knew it was only meant with affection. They’d all liked him because he wasn’t a ‘chicken shit’ officer: (an over-zealous type that meted out harsh discipline for trivial misdemeanours) like some of the old school regulars could be. He measured you by your skills in the air and knowing he could rely upon you to obey his life-saving orders immediately. James wasn’t career officers that judged how well you could polish your shoes or shine your buckles. In other words; all his aircrews knew that they could trust him completely as his orders were issued to keep you and your comrades alive.

The men filed slowly, almost languidly into the Debriefing Hall with nothing much to report. They appeared to the Intelligence officers to be in an almost bored, introspective manner, but really it was just over-tiredness. A tiredness that could numb your senses and make you feel as if you’re not really there. It was something that just stopped short of dreaming while you’re actually still awake.

When they were all told of what had happened to Bolan and Blowes; it was accepted with an almost a blasé nod of the head or an imperceptible shrug of the shoulders that the French do so well. Some turned away from their fellow flyers so that no one could see the hurt on their faces. Many pilots and aircrew have long had a habit of doing things like this. They believed that if you want to stay sane and not freeze up under pressure you cannot let things like this get to you.

Most of the time it worked, it had to because if you didn’t believe that you were invincible, you wouldn’t last very long. Then you began to think too much about everything and soon the jitters would set in. Losing confidence in your flying would put you and anyone else that flew with you in mortal danger.

Many combat pilots have seen this. Unbelievably; some reported you could almost smell it on certain individuals. Sometimes you would catch their manner out of the corner of your eye; no matter how much that flier may try to hide it. Sometimes it was former big personalities became sullen or withdrawn or even just in their body language. Others could become wild-eyed; over jokey or too brash and blasé. A hex was on them all. It was there and if you didn’t get them sorted pronto; the whole squadron would be in trouble!

The immediate problem was that the men that died today were not some fresh faced rookies that’d recently joined the squadron and had been stupidly overflying or showing off. They were Bolan and Blowes. Everyone had known them for quite some time and everybody liked them. They’d all seen their family’s photo’s; laughed and drank with them; shared gripes and the good times. Now they were gone and would be sadly missed. All that had to be done now was to send out those damn letters of condolence to their loved ones.

‘Major James,’ called out Colonel Franks the airfield commander; standing in his office doorway and looking directly over at James. ‘We need to talk. Would you come through to my office?’

James broke off his conversation with one of his flight commanders, telling him to get the aircrew to wait around until he came back from Franks’ office.

He picked up his hat from the old trestle table and then rubbed his hand down his face as if to inject some alertness into his sleep weary brain but could only feel the stubble of his overnight beard growth. This disappointing action was accompanied by the ever-present stiffness in his lower back due to all that aircraft vibration due to endless hours of flying.

He really did feel very old today.

Colonel Franks was at his desk when Chris James passed through his open door. Franks looked up at James and could see the tiredness and strain on his face and noted the way his body was stooping.

‘I’m sorry about Bolan and Blowes, it really is too bad,’ he said empathically.

A pause passed between them but coupled with a small intake of breath to then continue: ‘However, I have some ‘intel’ that’s going to keep us all very busy as it’s heading our way real soon.’

Franks placed the decrypted message down on the desk so that James could look it over. He picked it up and read it intently but said nothing only to place it back down on the desk.

James remembered he would have to sort out with the Personnel Officer to have the remains of the two airmen shipped back home to the mainland for a military funeral. He would also have all their personal effects sent back to their loved ones but with any incriminating mementos removed. This kindness was done to spare any hurt feelings or awkward questions that sometimes arise on inspection of said effects when returned to the families.

James left Franks’ office and went back into to the Debriefing Hall to give them the latest news, which was greeted with the usual groans and sighs. Not the usual type of ‘why us’ groans but the really fed up sounds of exhausted men close to breaking point.

‘Ok men, sit down’ said James. ‘I know you’re all beat but this is serious and we must be ready for this next mission.’

The airmen looked across the room at each other as their tiredness seemed to lift a little at their skippers request for compliance. They all fought hard to mentally beat their brains into losing that woolly and distracted feeling and were professional enough to know that if you wanted to stay alive it was vital that you listened.

‘We’re moving back to the mainland within the next few of days but first we have been detailed for a challenging mission.’

He looked across the room to check out their reactions but they seemed to be ambivalent at the news of yet another mission.

Even the exciting thought of returning to the mainland didn’t really provoke much interest. They were just really tired.

However, they were listening.

**

The map table in the Operations Room displayed the detailed planning and was crowded out with all the relevant aircrews attending. They were all invited to take a seat. It was only then you could cut the atmosphere with a knife as it was just like waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the pilots had complete confidence in their skipper. Chris James would do his best to make it all work out.

After the briefing, James released the aircrews and told the ground crew the news of the squadron transferring back to a mainland station. The only fly in the ointment was they only had three or four days to get the unit’s gear packed up and be ready to go. This was on top of getting the squadron prepared for action. To add to that, they must also get their own personal stuff